


The Alchemist's Daughter

by laterslayer



Series: Eyas [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, Childhood, Childhood Friends, F/M, Gen, Harm to Animals, Hunters & Hunting, Loneliness, Mild Blood, Shooting Guns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26815033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laterslayer/pseuds/laterslayer
Summary: This is a story of how Riza Hawkeye became a sharpshooter, Roy Mustang a flame alchemist, and how their destinies became invariably intertwined.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Series: Eyas [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975882
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	The Alchemist's Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> ey·as  
> /ˈīəs/  
> noun  
> noun: eyas; plural noun: eyasses
> 
> a young hawk, especially (in falconry) an unfledged nestling taken from the nest for training.

Riza had never been an extraordinary child. She wasn't particularly gifted, nor did she have any special talents. She couldn't dance or sing, and while she did well at her studies it came not from any form of genius, but from late nights and hard work. She was quiet and reserved, yes, but she wouldn't exactly say that she was shy. She was plain; simple as that. Or as the other children would tease her, she was "extra ordinary".

It didn't bother her, truly. From what she could gather from the string of hopefuls knocking on their door to seek her father's tutelage, being "gifted" brought with it nothing but trouble. Her father was one such individual. An alchemist in name, he sought to unravel the secrets of nature and science. To most he was a wonder, a visionary --albeit a little strange. A master of his craft, his entire life's work revolved around perfecting what they called flame alchemy. 

Those were the praises that were heard of her father, Berthold.

In truth, he was nothing. He wasn't a father or a husband, but a stranger. A nobody. He was emptiness personified. After all, how else could someone react to the death of their wife, the mother of their child, with the two simple words "I see." No memorial, no service, just a gravestone in the earth that he visited but once.

All because of his "gift".

Then one day Berthold became a mentor. Not to her, certainly, for he hardly even acknowledged her as a daughter, but not to some equal talent, either. It was not a man or woman that was to be his apprentice, but a boy. One not much older than her but by a few years. What's more, he seemed just as ordinary as she. He was rather plain-looking and perhaps even a bit dim, as he didn't seem to understand how things worked out in the country. He didn't particularly excel in any subjects, nor did he have any preexisting knowledge of alchemy. He was completely average. In fact, his only interesting quality was that he was from the city.

His name was Roy Mustang.

No matter how hard she tried, Riza couldn't understand it. How her own father could cast her aside only to show favor to someone else. Someone who wasn't even necessarily any smarter or skilled, only different. Someone that wasn't _her_. It made her angry. As painful as it was, being neglected for years by the very man that was supposed to love and protect her, seeing such attention be given to another made her feel all the more alone. And although she did her best not to take it out on him, for it wasn't exactly his fault but that of circumstance, she couldn't help her frustrations. She was snappish when he asked questions and reproachful whenever he left his schoolbooks or other belongings about the house.

It wasn't that Riza hated him or even that she disliked him --honestly. She simply didn't wish to get to know him well enough to care either way. So much so that it quickly got to the point where she began to avoid him altogether, and would go to great lengths to keep it that way. She woke with the sun as she always had, but instead of enjoying the sunrise through the kitchen window she would now disappear for an early morning walk --one made complete with a simple breakfast of bread and cheese. Once the sun touched the top of the treeline she would swing back to the house so that she could change for school. Quick and quiet as a mouse, she would slip out again before he could even ask about tagging along. Occasionally there were mornings when he was up earlier than usual and so she would head straight to school, skipping breakfast altogether and taking a longer route in order to kill time.

Classes were a strange reprieve as they shared none, being in different grades, and lunches and other breaks were spent beneath an old oak tree in the schoolyard. Later when it finally came time to go home she would grab her books and take a shortcut through the woods. As her father's pupil stuck to the main roads where he could ride his bicycle, the uneven terrain ensured that they wouldn't run into each other. The shortcut also meant that she would get home soon enough that she could prepare dinner undisturbed before disappearing to her room for the evening.

That was her routine. Though rather dull, Riza's life had never held much excitement to begin with. At least it worked well enough and she was able to keep to herself. Some days she even forgot about their house guest. Some days, but not all. Weekends were more of a trick, naturally. No school meant that she had nowhere else she had to be, and for him it meant there was no where else he _could_ be. Though she could overhear their talks of alchemy throughout the week, these were the days in which they truly became invested in their lessons. In fact, she saw more of her father those two days a week than she had over her entire childhood.

The kitchen table had been overcome with an ever-growing pile of different texts and stacks of papers that the boy would pour over at Berthold's direction. The only marginally clear space was reserved for putting theory into practice, and even then clutter could often be found among the chalk dust. Once that table was where their family gathered together to share their meals, but that was a long, long time ago. So long ago, in fact, that she hardly had any memories of it. Even before Berthold took on this apprentice he would never sit there. Not since her mother died. Instead it would just be her eating alone every morning and again every night.

Except for now. Now there were two people that could be found at that table, sitting together, sharing meals as one learned from the other... And she wasn't one of them. Instead of a father and daughter sharing that space, acting like some semblance of a family, it was Berthold playing mentor to some kid. And once again that anger came bubbling up. Still, it was better than what lurked beneath: a sad loneliness.

It went without saying that Riza found other ways to spend those days. She never had enjoyed being cooped up in that house, even before Berthold's eager pupil had taken up residence. Fortunately it wasn't entirely too difficult, and in fact she had done so long ago. After all, she wasn't her father. She had no plans to spend the rest of her days bent over a desk, obsessing over alchemy and researching formulas until it killed her. Her gaze was towards the future --namely her own. Someone's had to be. Her father ensured she was given a good education, yes, but schooling could only get one so far.

Fortunately there was one member of her family that she could count on at least to some degree, and that was Grandpa Grumman. Oddly enough he was the only relative she knew of. The rest, both on her mother's and her father's side, had been estranged all her life. He, however, had remained a familiar, comforting presence throughout. And being a military general, it came as no surprise that he had taught her how to shoot from an early age. He thought such skills important for a young girl to learn, especially when "living out in the boonies", as he would put it. So despite her father's adamant disdain of the military and its ilk, he continued their marksmanship lessons with every visit. He even presented her with her very own rifle for her tenth birthday. Practical in nature and something that demanded the honing of her skills, it was one of her most treasured possessions.

Unfortunately, Berthold's disapproval meant that she had to keep it hidden. Although she had kept it in the house for a time, the fear she had felt one summer afternoon when it was almost discovered proved moving it necessary. So later that very day she took her rifle, wrapped it in some old linens tied with string, and strutted off into the woods. While it would've been easy to hide it somewhere nearby, such as the abandoned shed out behind the neighbor's property (the one that had been damaged during a particularly nasty storm), that wouldn't do. No, she had a special place in mind.

Riza had grown up in the countryside, and as such it went without saying that she knew the surrounding woodland like the back of her hand. In fact it was practically her second home --and for good reason. It colored the landscape with a dense thicket of trees, shrubs, and other brambles that shifted tones with each passing season. Broken up by shallow creeks and deer trails, a meadow could be found nestled at the base of the rolling foothills. Stretched across its center laid a pond. Clusters of cattails reached out of the deep green water, the surface scattered with lily pads and disturbed only by ducks taking flight.

In the springtime the tall grass would scratch against her legs as the scent of blooming flowers tickled her nose. Twitterpated birds would flutter overhead, filling the woods with their song. The summers were always particularly hot in this part of the country, so it was not unusual for her to spend a lazy afternoon with her feet in the cool water, watching as bugs danced over the rippling surface. Then autumn would come, raining down leaves until the trees grew empty and still, and the air turned crisp. The days would shorten, and soon enough the woods would be frozen in time beneath a blanket of snow, the pond transformed into a glittering sheet of ice.

 _This_ was her secret oasis, her escape. Whenever the house became too cramped or too quiet, this is where she would come. Sometimes to study or work on her schoolwork, yes, but also to daydream, to unwind, to _breathe_. To remind herself that there was more to life than that lonely house and the stranger in it. But this hideaway was more than just a place to skip stones --it was also where she came to practice her shooting.  
  
It had started out simple enough. Empty cans and bottles she had collected were lined up on a log only to be felled with a well-met shot. It was something that soon proved too easy, and so the setup was moved down to the far side of the pasture where distance would provide more of a challenge. Yet with each passing week her skills improved until the last of the bottles were reduced to exploding shards of glass.

The next test of her skill required some creativity. That, and some experience with climbing. Cans were tied with string and hung from the trees where the branches would not only disrupt her line of sight, but detract from her focus. Now, not only would she have to work to _find_ her targets, but she would need to account for the way they shifted in the breeze. Yet just as before she rose to the challenge, and gradually the metal became so riddled with holes that the targets were completely unrecognizable. 

It was the following spring that she set her sights on hunting. Just as her aim had developed, so too did her purpose. After all, they still had to eat. And while the boy's family may be providing some cenz to help cover his stay, it certainly wasn't being used to put food on the table. For the past year or so that responsibility had somehow fallen to her. After all, Berthold's main focus had always been his research. Not his family, not his daughter, not his home. Even the apprentice, she was certain, was nothing more than a means toward that end. A tool to be used and then discarded. Not that it did anything to stem her jealousy.

Still, Riza supposed there were worse things than developing an early sense of independence. She knew how to cook, to clean, how to do the shopping and even make simple repairs about the house. Hunting was just one more thing to add to her repertoire. And while she didn't exactly intend to skin and gut the animals herself --the very idea actually made her stomach turn--, she could always bring them to the local butcher for cleaning to to sell.

Unfortunately, she soon discovered that it was much more demanding than simple target practice. She had the aim, yes, but there was more too it than just that. Her patience, as well as her discipline, were lacking. Lying in wait among the trees, for instance, proved to be an oddly difficult task. It was amusing, really, how hard it was to do _nothing._ Then again she _was_ a child. Generally speaking, they weren't exactly known for their propensity to sit still. However it was not just that which needed work, but her nerve. For when that rabbit was finally spotted among the brush, finally aligned in her sights... her finger hesitated on the trigger. The bolt action would already be moved into place, the butt of the stock held steady against her shoulder to guarantee the perfect shot. Yet she couldn't do it.

This happened not once or twice, but several times. Bullets, too many to count, were wasted not because she had poor aim, but because she didn't have the courage to take the shot in the first place. In fact it would take weeks before she bagged her first rabbit. Though she had at last begun to settle her nerve and pull the trigger, something strange would happen: She would miss. At the last second there was something inside her that would waver and the stock would slip, sending the bullet whizzing passed her target and into the trees behind. The animal would scatter, naturally, and Riza would be left to scowl at her own incompetence.

Yet with each bullet loaded into the chamber her hand steadied, as did her resolve, and at last she hit her mark. Unfortunately that didn't necessarily mean it was a clean kill, for as she squeezed the trigger a twig snapped beneath her elbow. Instead of a fatal head-shot she hit the animal in the thigh, merely wounding it. It was a day she would remember for the rest of her life. How she cried as she held the rabbit in her lap before finally finding the strength to put it out of its misery. The day she vowed never again to let a shot go astray.

As time passed it eventually became easier. The number of hares she would bring to the butcher shop went from one every so often to at least three on any given trip. Now that there was a second unwanted guest in her home, her visits to the butcher --a cheerful old woman named Mrs. Clark-- became a weekly occurrence. She even began bringing her pheasants in order to secure a few extra cenz. While most of the money went towards groceries and other such necessities, anything that remained was hidden away for safekeeping. Since her father's tutelage began, she had begun to develop quite the rainy-day-fund. Part of her felt it only appropriate to thank the cityboy, for her marksmanship was continuing to make great strides as well, but that would involve actually meeting him. And she was trying very, very hard not to do that.

Alas, one could only avoid a newcomer in their life for so long. The irony was that when they finally _did_ meet it was not in the house that they shared, but on a small country road.

Fall was fast approaching. Riza could feel the bite of a chill in the air, could sense the stillness that was beginning to pervade the forest. Pheasants and other such game were becoming harder to spot, and soon she doubted she would be able to find them at all. She wasn't exactly sure what she would do for the winter. As beautiful as her spot was during those months, the trek to get there was not an easy one to make in the snow. And while bunnies ran rampant at all times of the year, she wasn't sure they would be worth the trouble.

Besides, she was always weary of leaving her rifle outside in those harsher conditions. While she had gotten a metal box and some fleece to store it in, rust and other such damage would always be cause for concern. This year she might just retire Gladys indoors. The floorboard beneath her bed was loose enough, she was certain she could pry it up the rest of the way and hide it there. Still, the thought of having to go months without shooting was not a pleasant one. As inattentive as Berthold was, she would never dare to traipse a gun in and out of the house more than absolutely necessary. If she were to take it inside, that was where it would have to remain until spring. Fortunately she still had some time to think it over.

Gravel crunched beneath her boots as she made her way down the lane, a large brown paper bag held precariously in her arms. This was definitely going to be the last time she bought so much in one trip. To be fair they usually didn't run out of both eggs and milk at the exact same time, but still... Quickly she had realized that trying to carry both in additional to the usual staples was a poor idea. Even now she leaned back as she walked, trying to redistribute some of the weight to her chest as her fingers were beginning to lose their feeling.

Briefly she thought of how lucky Berthold's pupil was to have a bicycle, and one with a basket no less! It would've been a practical thing to start putting some cenz towards, but that would require for her to know how to ride one to begin with. It was just another one of those things a child was supposed to learn from their father.

Riza sighed. So lost was she in her brooding that she didn't even notice the ruckus up ahead. Not until she heard the frightened yapping of a dog. It was a terrible sound --one that was swiftly followed by a chorus of laughter. It was coming from up around the bend. Her arms tightened around what she was carrying as her pace quickened to a run. There, just around the corner, were a group of thugs, their backs turned as they surrounded their prey. One was brandishing what looked to be a pellet gun while some of the others held sticks. Another was tossing a small rock in her hand.

So far their attention was solely focused on the mutt they had backed against a tree. It's head was lowered just above the ground and its tail tucked between its legs. If that wasn't enough evidence of its distress it wasn't even growling in defense, only whimpering. Even from where Riza stood she could see that it was shaking. Not without reason, it seemed, for if the bloodied leaves and twigs caught in its fur were any indication they had been tormenting the animal for a while.

It filled her with a rage she had never known. So much so that when that pellet gun was raised she acted without thinking.

"Stop!" 

The bag of groceries crashed to the ground as she raced forward to push past them, intent on shielding the poor thing. And that's exactly what she did. She heard the pop of the pellet gun, felt the sting of it as the shot winged her shoulder. Unfortunately for them it only strengthened her resolve and she planted herself firm, arms outstretched.

"Stop it!" she repeated. Her tone was so forceful that she hardly even recognized it.

The interruption was met with a mixture of scowls and confused glances. It gave her a moment's breath in which she was able to see just who she was standing in between. There were four boys and a girl, all older than her by a few years and each at least a head taller. Some of them she recognized from school but knew only in passing; others were complete strangers. None of them looked particularly kind. 

"What the--?"

"Who is she?"

"Where the hell did she come from?"

It was a cluster of questions that came from all directions. Even the dog cowering behind her nosed at the back of her leg in a weary curiosity. Riza wasn't given the opportunity to answer any of them, even if she _had_ wanted to. Before she could even open her mouth to tell them to leave them alone, an especially mean-looking boy spoke up. Though not the same one that had hit her shoulder with that piss-poor shot, she could tell that he was the leader of their little group. The fact that he was the tallest was likely a coincidence, but he carried himself with the self-entitlement and arrogance that tended to be confused with authority. The way he stood with one hand in his pocket as the other tapped a large stick against his shoulder spoke volumes. As did the way he jerked his chin to shift the mousy brown hair from his eyes.

" _Oh, I know who you are,_ " the boy offered with a toothy grin. Still, that stick continued to knock against his shoulder. "You're the daughter of that hermit, aren't ya?"

At this one of the other boys stepped back. "That weird guy? Isn't he supposed to be an alchemist or something?"

"I hear he's a freak," the girl countered, smirking. " _She_ probably is, too."

"I think she's the one we saw going into the butchershop that one time."

"Yeah, I think you're right!"

Riza bit the inside of her lip. Even though her stern expression remained it was all she could do to keep from shaking.

"Hey _little girl_ ," the brunette piped up again, "Aren't you listening?" When he finally pulled his hand out of his pocket he tossed up a rock he had been carrying, catching it midair only to hurl it in her direction. "We're taking to you!"

Riza was too slow. Before she could shield her face it struck hard against her cheek. The pulsing pain was followed by something wet. There was a barking laugh and another stone soon followed, this time hitting her in the arm. She bit back a cry. Still, she refused to move from her spot. This only seemed to spur them on. She could just see the barrel of the pellet gun raising out of the corner of her eye, and this time it was aimed directly at her. She squeezed her eyes shut. The dog pressed up against her, and when it released a whimper she nearly mistook it for her own.

But this time there was no crack of the gun being fired, no sharp sting as it cut into her skin. Instead there was a holler followed by screeching tires. If Riza had opened her eyes two seconds later she would have missed the blurred mess of black hair that sped past her. There were startled yells and a loud crash as what she could only describe as chaos unfolded. The kind where you weren't even sure what was happening until it was all over.

What she did know was this: Someone had come to help her, and now that someone was lying on the ground groaning next to the boy that had been about to shoot her --and a bicycle was skidding off in a cloud of dirt. A bicycle... _Oh._

Gratitude mixed with dread in a way she didn't quite know possible.

Fortunately Riza was quick to recover. After all this wasn't exactly the time to become lost in thought. So instead of wondering just what the cityboy thought he was doing, she focused on making sure they would both be able to go home without any more cuts and bruises. The force of the tackle had knocked the pellet gun into the grass and she made a grab for it. Though the rest of the group had been just as caught off guard as she, they took longer to get their bearings. By the time their voices turned to shouts and they moved to yank the boy off of their fallen friend, the peashooter was already aimed, her finger on the trigger.

This was not missed by the lanky brunette who had already grabbed a fist-full of Roy's shirt collar. If anything else it gave him pause.

"Let him go." Riza's voice didn't waver once.

He only sneered. "Brave now, aren't you?" he needled. "What are you gonna do, shoot me? Go on, then!" Despite his words the others stood around him like posts. Though they may not have exactly been afraid of a twelve year-old girl with a pellet gun, they were certainly reevaluating the situation. Many of which were clearly beginning to doubt it was worth it.

Riza arched a brow, readjusted her aim, and fired three shots at the ground right in front of his feet. Immediately he jumped back spitting and swearing, and even Roy scrambled to get out of the way. The boy, now rightfully pissed, grabbed the stick that had fallen to the ground. "You little bitch! Can't even hit your target, can you?!"

The next shot knocked the branch clean out of his hand.

If any of them had at all considered continuing this fight before, those plans were now thrown to the wayside. All of them, the tall jerk included, scattered like rats. Now Riza was not one to normally feel smug. However, in this moment she felt that she could allow herself to indulge in it, if only a little. The dog trotted over to her side and nosed at her hand. Its tail wagging as it panted happily, how could she do anything but smile? Promptly she dropped to her knees and proceeded to give them all the head scratches and love they could ever want.

"Good girl," Riza cooed only to be answered with a lick across her face.

With a smile still on her lips she began to check the dog over for injuries. She definitely had some cuts and scrapes but, after taking a peek at the skin hidden beneath some blood-matted fur, it didn't seem to be anything too serious. She was no more banged up than the rest of them, at any rate. She was a lovely dog, tangled fur, leaves and dirt aside. And while Riza wasn't exactly well-versed in the different canine breeds, she was definitely some mix of golden retriever. Gently she tugged at the crimped ears. Maybe something with a collie?

_No collar, either..._

"Are you okay?"

Riza's expression faltered. How she had forgotten about her father's apprentice, she had no idea. "I'm fine," she answered easily. After all she was, wasn't she? Despite her response she could still feel those eyes on her. Slightly tongue-in-cheek, she turned to peer up at him. "Thank you for your help," she added begrudgingly.

The corner of Roy's mouth twitched upward in a smile. For some reason Riza felt as though this were the first time she was looking at him. _Really_ looking at him. At his short yet slightly shaggy hair and his dark almond eyes; ones that were set upon a kind face. A face that also had several scrapes, and likely a bruise or two come tomorrow. The rest of him seemed even worse for wear. His clothing was torn in spots and covered in dirt, and his arms were darkened with bloody cuts and other abrasions. It looked-- Well. _It looked_ like he had just crashed his bicycle in the middle of the road. Moron.

"Are _you_ okay?" Riza felt compelled to reciprocate, if only for courtesy's sake.

The way his uneven smile grew only made her frown. "It's nothing," he insisted. Then, with a forlorn look over his shoulder, "I'm worried my bike ended up in worse shape than I did, though."

Riza didn't answer and instead went back to petting the dog.

After a moment he spoke up once more. "My name's Roy," he offered with an awkward extension of his hand. "Roy Mustang."

She merely glanced at it. "I know."

"A-- Ah." Once it became clear that she had no intention of accepting his handshake, he withdrew to instead sheepishly rub at the back of his neck. "I wasn't sure if you did. Despite the fact that I've been apprenticing under your father for a few months now, this is the first we've ever spoken."

"I know."

If there had been any trace of embarrassment coloring his cheeks before, they were positively scarlet with it now. "Oh. I.. I see," he stumbled. He started then. "Um... you're bleeding."

Almost reflexively she wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand. Sure enough that rock had done some damage, and when she looked at it next the back was red with blood. In fact, she could feel how she had just smeared it across her face by accident. Her frown shifted into a scowl.

"Come on, let's get you home."

Somehow Riza didn't protest and she even let the boy help her up. At least she began to until she saw what had become of that month's groceries. "Damn it...!" she cursed, ducking under his arm to make her way over to the torn bag. The milk had spilled onto the dirt path, the mess complimented by about a dozen broken eggs and scattered fruit. The loaf of bread was ruined, too; the half that wasn't wet with yolk and diary covered with mud.

"Anything salvageable?" Roy called out. Apparently he had gotten the hint and left her alone to check on his bicycle.

"No. Not really..." she grumbled. She picked through the bag to grab some fruit that was certainly going to be bruised beyond belief.

"You're a great shot, by the way."

Riza remained silent. She ripped off a large section of bread and handed it to the mutt who stood dutifully by her side. She tore into it gratefully, tail wagging.

"Really," he insisted. The sound of bicycle spokes and tires moving over gravel could be heard as he headed back over. Apparently the bike had survived the crash after all. "Who taught you how to shoot like that?"

"My grandpa." Riza scratched the dog's golden-brown fur as she licked at the broken eggs. "He was the one who taught me."

"Very impressive."

When she looked up at him next that pleasant smile had returned. It was different from the ones others normally cast her. Her teachers, her peers --even the butcher Ms Clark could not always hide the sense of pity from her expression. But this one was distinct. It wasn't strained or empty, but honest. Just like his eyes. For a few moments Riza hesitated before finally holding out her hand.

"I'm Riza Hawkeye."

Roy's features softened further before he stepped forward to grasp her hand in a firm but gentle handshake.

"Its nice to finally meet you, Riza."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) Kudos and comments are always so appreciated, and truly make my day! I'm later-slayer on Tumblr.
> 
> I'm hoping the pace and time were okay, as I have a tendency to jump back and forth. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome!


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